


we wear the same masks

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: Tony wants to grab this guy by the shoulders and shake him. There’s clearly something underneath the surface of this bumbling idiot Clark Kent pretends to be. After years of wearing a mask, you learn to recognize your fellow pretenders.Finally, after minutes on end of trying to get the guy to slip up, Tony cuts to the chase. “Hey, how do you feel about Bruce Wayne?”(Or, Steve believes that Bruce Wayne and Tony are dating and Tony wants to find out more about this new guy Bruce is actually dating. Meanwhile, Bruce and Clark are happy to sit and watch this unfold.)





	we wear the same masks

When his phone rings, Bruce Wayne has to bite back a sigh. He’d just leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, chasing the sleep he hasn’t gotten enough of since he was maybe eight years old.

He checks the ID as he raises the phone to his ear. “Tony.”

“Batsy! How’s the flight?”

Bruce tries to keep the smile out of his voice. “Some of us have secret identities, Iron Man.”

“Yeah, and I still think it’s a stupid idea. Hey, you read Vanity Fair lately?”

“I haven’t gotten around to reading it this month, no.”

“Ha.” In the background, something clangs and Bruce hears Tony curse away from the phone, then continue swearing into the phone.

Bruce asks, “Drop something on your foot?”

“No, I’m fine,” Tony says. Then, “Apparently we’re madly in love.”

Bruce makes a mental note to check out Vanity Fair later. “They’re trying that again? I thought they wrung that dry when we were in our twenties.”

“Nope. They must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel. You should do something outrageous at the next party and give them more material.”

Bruce distantly considers it. He hasn’t done anything particularly newsworthy at a party in years- he hasn’t been to many parties in the last few years anyway. He’s made appearances and then disappeared after ten minutes to go on patrol.

“I’ll think about it,” Bruce says.

Tony hums into the phone. Then he’s silent in a way that suggests there was actually a reason he called and he’s stalling until he can find a way to bring it up.

Bruce waits. Tony’s never been a patient guy.

“So I’ve been seeing a lot of stuff about you saving this one reporter over and over.”

There it is. “Yes, it is part of the job. What about it?”

“You’ve been saving this guy in _Metropolis_. What the hell are you doing there? You’ve told me multiple times that you hate-”

“I don’t _hate_ it,” Bruce says, and then has to pause to accept a shrimp cocktail from a waitress. “Thank you,” he says, flashing her his best Brucie smile.

She smiles back, all professionalism. Huh. Bruce must be losing his touch- when he’s on top of his game, even the most experienced ones usually take a second to process it before dragging up a smile that is more flustered than usual.

Tony’s still talking in his ear. Bruce sighs.

“Yes, Tony, I’m dating the reporter. He lives in Metropolis.”

Tony stutters to a stop. “What, seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you had a thing for you-know-who.”

Bruce spares a fleeting wish that he could tell him- _I still do, and somehow I’ve actually managed to get him as a romantic partner and it’s making me more happy than I thought I could ever be_. But that would involve outing Clark’s secret identity, and they don’t do that unless it’s an emergency.

“That’s over and done with,” Bruce says instead.

“Over and- so it started? Something finally happened? Because you’ve been sitting on that crush for close to ten fucking years now, you said you’d tell me if something happened-”

“Are we still meeting at yours today?”

Tony mutters something into the phone, but it sounds more grudging than actually angry. “Yeah. When do you land in New York?”

Bruce twists his wrist to check his watch. “In twenty, but I have-”

“Things to do, yeah, I get you, you’re talking to _me_ here.”

“Busy day?”

“Busy life, Batsy. You know how it is.”

“Uh-huh.” Bruce takes a sip of his cocktail, and then a swallow. It takes more than one cocktail to effect him, but he might as well smell like booze when he gets to his meeting.

“I’ll see you later,” he says after he’s drained most of the glass.

“Yep. See you.”

Bruce hangs up and looks out the window. It’s a clear, bright day, which makes it perfect for flying: plane and Superman both. Before he pockets his phone, he sends a text to Clark:

_Heads up: Stark might zero in on you if he recognizes you as the dashing reporter Batman saved four times last month._

His phone dings in reply less than two minutes later: _Noted :p_

Bruce sighs, but he can’t hold down the soft smile that he is very determined not to show to paparazzi.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Tony usually doesn’t bother scanning the crowd at press conferences. If there’s anyone who will cause trouble, Pepper will have already told him about it.

But he’s bored, and Pepper is busy giving some asshole a polite dressing-down, and Tony is in the middle of zoning out when his eyes land on a familiar face in the crowd. For a moment he can’t determine why the guy is so fucking familiar, but then it clicks and Tony straightens up in his seat.

Bruce is dating _this_ guy?

Tony looks him up and down. He can’t see all of him, but what he can see is a little appalling. The guy- Clark? C-something, definitely Clark-ish- is wearing a shirt two sizes too big and he’s slouching into it. His posture in general is in the region of uncooked pasta and he’s got on these big dorky glasses.

What the hell must Bruce see in him to actually date him? He dates, sure, but from his tone of voice Tony thinks he actually _cares_ about the guy, which is a miracle in itself. Tony had been expecting a fucking Adonis- okay, the guy doesn’t look scrawny, but it’s hard to make out anything under all that baggy suit.

He also doesn’t seem to notice Tony watching him at all, looking at Pepper as she talks and taking notes and making a face when he drops his pen, and when he bends to pick it up he hits his head on the back of the guy in front of him.

Tony watches the guy bumble through an apology and has to stop himself from openly glaring.

What the fucking hell, Bruce? _This_ guy?

Tony stays appalled right through until the end of the press conference, at which point C-something raises his hand when Pepper asks if there’s any further questions.

“You,” Tony says, pointing hard before Pepper can choose someone. “Yeah, what’s your name?”

The guy blinks. “Clark Kent, sir. Daily Planet.”

His name _is_ Clark. Got it in one.

“I wanted to ask Miss Potts if she had any comments on the allegations that her leadership of SI might have affected the office building collapse in Russia.”

Tony blinks. Okay, the guy isn’t a total wethead.

He sits back and watches as the guy proceeds to volley back and forth with Pepper- respectfully, evenly, but fast and smart enough that gets Tony’s eyebrows raising.

When everyone gets up to leave, Tony clicks his fingers at Clark. “Hey, Kent. Stay a while.”

Clark’s face does a look of surprise that is very close to over the top. “Me, sir?”

“Yeah.” Tony gets up from the conference table. “How would you feel about getting an interview?”

“With you? Gosh, sir, that’d be great.”

 _Gosh_? Is Clark fucking with him?

Tony narrows his eyes, but Clark’s expression stays open and innocent. When Pepper gives Tony a sideways look, Tony waves her off. “Personal interest,” he says softly.

Pepper’s look seaways into _okay, but we’re talking about this later_. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” Tony says. He jerks his head at Clark. “Follow me.”

As they walk to Tony’s car, Tony gets out his phone and texts: _Hey I’m gonna be a bit late, feel free to head over and entertain yourself anyway. Also you didn’t tell me your bf was in new York??? he’s kind of pretty under those awful glasses._

Then he slips his phone back into his pocket and turns to Clark. “So! Metropolis! That’s the Daily Planet, right?”

“That’s where it is, yes.”

Tony climbs into the car and waits until Clark gets in next to him, putting a good distance between them and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“What brings you to New York?”

“Uh, work.” Clark smiles politely. “Mr. Stark, can I ask why you picked me for an interview today?”

Tony shrugs. “You seemed sharp.”

Something flickers over Clark’s face but it’s gone before Tony can parse it out.

“Well,” Clark says. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Jarvis greets him as soon as he heads through the front door.

“Hey, Jarvis.” Bruce makes a beeline for the elevator that will take him up to Tony’s floor. “How’s the Tower?”

“Structurally sound, Master Bruce.”

Bruce snorts and leans over to press the elevator button. It had been strange when Tony had crafted an AI with the same accent, mannerisms, dry wit and name as his dead butler. Tony had just let Bruce stumble into it and then whiten like he’d heard the ghost of a man who’d been dead five years, and Tony had just waved it off in a way that let Bruce know that they were never going to talk about it.

So Bruce hasn’t brought it up since. God knows what he’d do if Alfred-

He blinks hard to clear the thought. Sure, Alfred is getting up there, but he still has a good twenty years left if he’s lucky. And he will be, if Bruce has anything to say about it.

The elevator doors swish open and Bruce steps out onto the floor just as his phone buzzes with a text. It’s yet another of Tony’s tirade of questions about what the hell is up with this Kent guy, and Bruce almost wants to text him back with the truth just to get his reaction.

Instead he puts his phone back in his pocket without sending a reply.

As he’s deciding whether to head to Tony’s workshop or his lounge, a figure appears from around the corner.

“Captain America,” Bruce says, pulling on his no-really-I’m-just-a-dumb-trust-fund-baby persona automatically. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Steve had stopped in his tracks upon seeing him. He’s holding a banana, which he resumes peeling after Bruce speaks.

“The communal kitchen didn’t have any fruit left in the fruit bowl,” Steve says. His shoulders have gone tight, along with the sides of his mouth- he’s uncertain about Bruce as a person, which Bruce already knows from meeting him in passing a few times, but this tightness is new.

“Right,” Bruce nods at the banana. “Gotta keep up that supersoldier physique, huh? Potassium.”

Steve looks at him oddly, then at the banana. “Sure do,” is all he says, taking a bite and then heading for a hall that only leads to one place: Tony’s workshop. Huh. If Steve is allowed to be there when Tony isn’t, that means they’re a lot closer than Bruce thought.

“Oh, are you heading down to Tony’s workshop?” Bruce looks innocently at Steve as he turns around. “Better not. Tony doesn’t like people in there when he isn’t around.”

“I know. I’m-” Steve stops.

Interesting.

“I didn’t know you two were so close,” Bruce says, and puts on a grin- his best Brucie grin, the one that hovers between annoying and charming. Going by Steve’s expression, which he hastily tries to smother, Bruce is guessing he’s falling hard on the side of annoying.

Oddly enough, Steve gets this near-guilty look that is quickly replaced by blank politeness. “We’re good friends.”

“Oh? Tony hasn’t mentioned you much.”

Bruce mostly meant it to test the water, probe further into Steve’s reactions- and the one he gets makes it worth it. Steve’s whole face closes off before heading straight back into a politeness that Bruce has seen on TV when Steve is in Captain mode.

“I guess not,” Steve says, and then just as Bruce is composing a hypothesis, he continues, “You don’t- have anything to worry about,” stiff and awkward and obviously meant to be reassuring.

Bruce blinks. He rearranges a few key points in his head, and- ah. Steve has bought into the idea that he and Tony are romantically involved. And he does _not_ like it.

Bruce has his grin get even more skeezy. “Well, that’s good to know. I’m sure we both know how Tony can get around gorgeous blondes.”

That earns him another interesting reaction, with Steve’s eyebrows pulling inwards in clear dislike, but it’s… softened by something that Bruce is starting to puzzle out when Steve speeds up the process by saying, “You don’t have to put up that front around me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“That you’re not-” Steve nods at him. “Brucie Wayne, TM, in private. I’ve seen you around Tony. You drop it sometimes when you think no-one’s looking.”

Bruce keeps his smile in place. “Well, it’s flattering you think I’m less shallow than I am,” he tries, but Steve is- okay, Steve isn’t buying that at _all_. Bruce is going to have to try harder.

“Tony has his own version,” Steve tells him. “It wasn’t hard to recognize that you have yours.”

He leans on the doorway and folds his arms, then takes a bite of banana. “Given Pepper and Rhodey’s reaction to you, I’m guessing you’re not as bad for Tony as you pretend to be. You’ve known each other since you were teenagers. You see through each other’s masks. And I’m- happy for you two.”

He gives Bruce a little smile that’s more sad than anything else, though Steve is obviously doing his best to hide it. Then he turns his back on Bruce and retreats down the hall that will lead to Tony’s workshop, where Steve will- what? Play with Dummy? Hang around waiting for Tony to get back? Tony doesn’t let people in there period, most of the time, and he rarely lets people in when he’s not there, even when it’s Bruce or Pepper or Rhodey.

Bruce pockets his hands and stares thoughtfully down the hall as Steve takes the stairs down to the workshop. As he does, Bruce’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

This time, it’s from Clark. Bruce’s mouth twitches as he reads it: _thinking of telling stark about my less mild-mannered alter ego. thoughts?_

Bruce sends back _You know my thoughts about that. I assume the interview is going well_.

Then he pockets his phone again, turning on his heel to head for the lounge.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Tony wants to grab this guy by the shoulders and shake him.

There’s clearly something underneath the surface of this bumbling idiot Clark pretends to be. After years of wearing a mask, you learn to recognize your fellow pretenders.

Finally, after minutes on end of trying to get the guy to slip up, Tony cuts to the chase. “Hey, how do you feel about Bruce Wayne?”

Clark, damn him, doesn’t look at all ruffled. Instead he’s all innocence and vague surprise.

“Well, as a-”

Tony cuts him off. “Personally.”

Clark pauses. “That’s a strange question, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stares at him. His eyes narrow as he leans closer to an impassive Clark, gaze going over each facial feature, the lines of his shoulders-

“I’ve read that he’s dating you,” Tony says.

“I’ve read the same things about him and you,” Clark says mildly. “To my knowledge, you and Mr. Wayne are friends. Surely he’d tell you if he was dating someone. It seems like the kind of thing friends tell each other about.”

Tony grits his teeth. There is something so fucking _off_ about this fucking _guy_.

“Heading up to your place now, Sir,” Happy calls from the front seat.

“Take another go around the block,” Tony says without tearing his gaze from Clark. “So are you dating him?”

Clark reaches up and adjusts his glasses. It looks like a means to drop eye contact with him for a moment. “That’s personal.”

“Yeah, well, Bruce is my friend, like you said. So if you are dating him, I might as well get to know you. So?”

Clark clears his throat. For the first time, Tony thinks that this discomfort might be real. “He and I have been- seeing each other, yes.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony folds his arms. “How long?”

“A few weeks.”

“Do you know him well?”

“We’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks-”

“How long did you know him before that?”

A pause, then: “I met Mr. Wayne- Bruce- at a gala a few months ago.”

Tony stares. There is something so- so, _so_ goddamn off, what _is_ it-

“Oh, fucking hell.”

Clark blinks as Tony sits up straighter and shoves a finger in his face. “He’s told you about the fucking _Bat_?”

Genuine surprise flickers over Clark’s face. “Um,” he says, and that’s all the confirmation Tony needs.

He groans, dropping his head in his hands. “Did he tell you about the Bat or did the Bat tell you about Bruce Wayne? He rescued you all those times, was that when-” Tony makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Wait, did you find out by accident or did he tell you outright? He’s so titchy about telling people- he told me outright, but only when I backed him into the corner, the dick. Please tell me he was forced into it.”

Clark’s mouth opens and closes before he says, “In a way.”

“In a _way_? Why? When?”

“There were…” Clark blows out a breath. “Circumstances that made telling me the best option. Though he certainly didn’t see it that way at first.”

“Don’t tell me. He nearly died?”

“No. This was a more, ah, personal matter.”

“On your part or his?”

“I- don’t think that’s appropriate,” Clark says, and he’s about to say something else when his phone buzzes. “Sorry,” he says, and brings his phone out of his pocket. He clicks it, then- infuriatingly- _smirks_ , before hiding the motion by itching his nose.

Tony stares at him as Clark, halfway through putting his phone in his pocket, cocks his head like he’s just heard something. It’s a tiny movement, Tony only catches it because he’s paying attention, but it’s there.

Then Clark turns to Tony and smiles. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but you’ll have to let me out here. Something came up.”

“Lassie in the well,” Tony asks dryly.

Clark gives him nothing except for, “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Stark. It was enlightening.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Same to you.”

He watches grudgingly as Clark gets out of the car, shutting the door behind him. He looks over his shoulder as he heads into the start of an alley, then turns around fully to make eye contact with Tony through the car window.

Then he fucking-

He fucking _takes flight_. First he’s there, and then he streaks upwards so fast Tony nearly misses it by blinking.

It takes a second for it to register, then another shamefully long second for Tony to connect all the dots, at which point Happy is pulling away from the curb.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony hears himself say. “What the fuck- fucking- _Bruce_ -”

He digs his phone out of his pocket but when he calls Bruce it goes to voicemail. Tony sends off a few furious texts as he asks, “Hap, how far from home are we?”

“About two minutes-”

“Great, make it one.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Tony glares down at his phone. Bruce is yet to reply to his missed call or his five-turning-six texts.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Bruce is channel-surfing when he hears the elevator doors slide open. He gives himself a moment to grin, then covers it as Tony starts yelling on the way to the lounge.

“You’ve been dating SUPERMAN and you didn’t tell me? I just got interviewed by Superman, Bruce, you could’ve given me a heads up-”

He appears wild-eyed in the doorway to glare at Bruce, who places the remote control gently down on the arm of the couch.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bruce says, mostly just to see Tony’s reaction.

Tony’s glare intensifies and then drops as he stalks over to the couch. “Don’t hit me with that Brucie bullshit,” he says as he throws himself down on the cushion next to Bruce’s.

On screen, an old man is demonstrating how to gut a fish. They watch it in silence that feels far too long, and every once in a while Tony makes a noise like he’s about to say something, and then he’ll subside back into silence.

Bruce breaks it first. “I ran into Steve while I was waiting.”

“Yeah? Please tell me you got flustered.” Tony’s never letting go of the hope that Captain America- the very fact of him- will make Bruce have a momentary fit of hero worship, since it happens with almost every American Cap meets, according to Tony.

“Have I ever been flustered?”

Tony looks at him sideways. His mouth opens but then he pauses, his face shifting in such an incremental way that Bruce barely catches it.

“What,” Tony says, and it’s obviously not about the flustered question.

“What what,” Bruce says, eyes remaining on the man gutting the fish on screen. The fish is still wiggling feebly, but less so now.

“You have that face that means you want to say something.”

Bruce holds in a sigh. Only Tony. “Nothing,” Bruce says. “Just a read I got on your guy while we were talking.”

Tony’s hands twitch in his lap at your _guy_ , then go into his pockets. “Annoyance?”

“Not quite.” Bruce looks past him towards the kitchen. There will probably be food in the cupboards- Tony’s started keeping it better stocked now that he isn’t the only one living here.

“I think you’d better talk to him,” Bruce says, gaze still fixed on the hall that leads to the kitchen. “Tell him we aren’t a couple. I think he’s been reading Vanity Fair.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, but he’s looking at Bruce in that way people do when they guess Bruce has ulterior motives. Tony’s one of the rare people who knows Bruce has ulterior motives, so it’s not a look Bruce gets often.

Bruce relents. “Look, he seems like a good guy who genuinely wants the best for you and I know you don’t want to break his heart.”

“I didn’t know I could,” Tony says slowly. He pulls his legs up on the couch and crosses them. “You think I could?”

“I do. Want me to interrogate him further, get more evidence?”

“Oh god, don’t go all _world’s greatest detective_ on me.”

Bruce flashes him a smile- it’s a real one, not the usual crap he pulls out, so it’s small. “Trust me, Tones. You don’t want to ignore this.”

Brucie Wayne isn’t serious, he doesn’t examine things too closely, he stays light and loose and careless, and Bruce is used to acting as such when he’s in a suit like he is now. Still, for Tony, he’ll bring out a tone that he uses while he’s in the Batsuit, and even then he uses it rarely: serious, firm, but with a softness that usually only happens when he’s talking to people on the brink of heading down a dark path.

He hears Tony’s throat click.

“You tried to,” Tony says. “You did, right?”

“Of course I did.”

“What was the straw that broke the Bat’s back?”

Bruce lets his eyes close for a moment. There had been a lot of straws building up- realizing Clark felt the same way had been a big one, and it had taken too much effort to remember that it’d be best for everyone if he distanced himself from Clark. When Clark had caught on and confronted him about it-Clark’s feelings, _Bruce’s_ feelings- that had very nearly pushed Bruce into giving in, but he’d dragged up a lie he’d known would hurt Clark, laughing at him and asking how Clark thought he’d actually have _feelings_ for him-

After that, Bruce had thought that would be the end of it. Not quite.

“Not right now,” Bruce says. “Alright?”

Tony hesitates and Bruce prepares to fend off the questions. But then Tony’s sitting back into the couch and saying, “Sure.”

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Tony hovers outside Steve’s art studio for a good fifteen minutes before he can bring himself to go up and knock.

His knuckles have barely touched the wood when the door flies open.

Steve nearly walks into him, startling at the last second and halting. “Tony!”

“Hi! Sorry.” Tony steps back and tries a confident smile. Steve smiles back, but it looks just as pathetic as Tony’s probably does- Steve’s shoulders are tight and he’s obviously upset, but doing that thing where he insists he’s fine, no, really, until he goes and breaks something.

“Taking your anger out on the canvas,” Tony asks.

Steve’s eyebrows raise, but all he says is, “Better than beating punching bags down in the gym sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Tony bounces on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth. “You headed somewhere?”

Another pause. This time Steve sighs, his hand raising to scratch the back of his head as he admits, “The gym. Painting isn’t working out so great.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool,” Tony says, stepping sideways to look around him. “What’re you painting?”

“Oh, uh-” Steve makes an aborted movement like he wants to step in the way of it, but he lets Tony walk past him and up to the easel, which is full of blue light illuminating a dark space. There are objects, sharp ones, but even while they’re curved or jagged, they’re oddly beautiful. There are shapes that are more steely and smooth, and they reflect the light brilliantly. Tony has no damn clue how he managed to get so much light from the paint.

“It’s abstract,” Steve says, coming to stand beside him. His arms come up to cross tightly. “You here for something in particular,” he asks, and it isn’t _fuck-off_ but it doesn’t sound welcoming, either.

Tony looks at the painting for a few more seconds so he won’t have to look at Steve. “Just wanted to let you know that whatever you’ve heard about me and Bruce- Bruce Wayne- we aren’t together. Never were, never have been, never will. He’s my friend.”

He chances a look over at Steve, whose folded arms have loosened somewhat.

“Oh…kay,” Steve says. “Thanks for- telling me. I guess. He was around here earlier, he was kind of- hamming it up. The whole idea that you two were together.”

Goddamnit Bruce. “Yeah, he likes to mess with people.”

Steve hums and Tony can’t decide if it’s in agreement or not.

“I thought you should know,” Tony continues, and it’s only from his years of faking confidence that he turns to face Steve fully.

Steve blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s hands are sweating. “See, I didn’t want there to be any confusion when I asked you to dinner.”

“…Yeah?”

“Is that the only thing you can say now?”

“Yeah- I mean, no.” Steve is starting to smile, even if it’s a little disbelieving. “Are you asking me to dinner?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Yes, but- I wanted to check-”

Steve falls quiet as Tony steps closer until their chests are nearly touching. Tony lets himself swallow as he looks up unto Steve’s eyes, which went rapidly wide and then half-lidded as he registered Tony’s closeness.

“This clear things up for you, Cap?”

Steve’s gaze darts over Tony’s face, brushing over his mouth before going back up to Tony’s eyes. “I’d say so,” he says, and his voice is nearing rough. “Might need further clarification, though.”

“You _dog_ ,” Tony says, but he can’t stop looking at Steve as he takes in the largeness of his pupils, the sudden change of breath, the way Steve is looking at him like- like Steve _does_ want him, like Steve wants him with a nervousness that doesn’t just come from wanting someone in bed-

Steve is halfway through a laugh when Tony leans up and kisses him. The laugh cuts off into a sharp inhale that makes Tony smile with it, the undeniable effect he has on Steve. He’ll have to send Bruce a fruit basket.

All thoughts of Bruce are pushed out of his mind as Steve’s hands come up to grip Tony’s shoulders, too tight and then easing, like he’d forgotten his own strength for a second. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Tony hears himself moan like he’s a fucking teenager experiencing tongue-kissing for the first time. Steve is going to ruin him for anyone else.

“That enough for you,” Tony says when they pull apart enough to speak.

“Not nearly,” Steve says, delightfully breathy. His ears go red at the very tips but his hold on Tony’s shoulders doesn’t drop. “Uh. Dinner?”

Tony grins. “Actually, given recent events, I was thinking more of a breakfast kind of thing. Tomorrow morning. If that works for you. I’m propositioning you, if that isn’t clear, I want to make very sure you get that-”

“I got it,” Steve says, eyes very dark and smile very wide.

“Yeah? You waiting for something, then?”

“Nope,” Steve says, and Tony yelps when Steve grabs him by the thighs and lifts him up like Tony’s a bag of mashmellows.

 _Definitely a fruit basket,_ Tony thinks dazedly. Then Steve starts kissing his neck and Tony doesn’t think about Bruce for a long time.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce climbs into bed around 3 in the morning. He’s aching, but this isn’t new- he’s ached for the past 15 years now. Tonight only brought one new hurt: someone had gotten in a lucky hit with a crowbar that had got him on the right shoulder in a place where the padding had momentarily slipped thanks to a previous fight.

Every other hurt is still healing: a dog bite on his leg from last week; a hairline fracture on one wrist from falling badly; bruises and cuts littering his body from countless fights from days and weeks ago. The closest Bruce comes to not being in pain is when people force him into resting after breaking a bone, and even then Bruce often manages to sneak out when he should be getting a few more weeks of healing.

As Bruce settles into bed, the figure on the other side of the bed stirs. Clark rolls over and opens his eyes blearily, still half-stuck in sleep.

“Morning,” Clark says, which is a dumb little joke he’s been using for the better part of a decade: whenever he’d see Bruce at ass-o-clock in the morning that really counted as night- 1 in the morning to around 4- he’d say _morning_ in a way that started out as implicitly dry but now can be said any way but still carry the implicit dryness.

Nowadays, though, it’s less dry and more fond. Clark shifts over and Bruce obediently opens his arms so Clark can settle into them. It’s a nice little routine they’ve got going now and Bruce is distantly terrified at how normal it’s become.

“How was your day,” Bruce asks.

Clark makes a noise into his neck. “Same old. Pulled some orphans from a fire.”

“Orphans. Really Clark?”

“Truth is stranger than fiction.” Clark heaves a breath into Bruce’s neck where a tirade of old, puckered scars sit, most of them from an altercation involving barbed wire. “How was yours?”

“Sure you’re not missing anything?”

“What, from my day? Let me think.”

“Think hard,” Bruce tells him.

Clark even makes a humming noise before he says, “Oh! I outed myself as Superman to Tony Stark.”

“Theeere we go.” Bruce can just picture Clark smiling to himself as he soars upwards, listening to Tony’s shocked swearing back in his car. “He chewed me out for that.”

“Aw.”

“You need to be more careful.”

“I’m careful. You trust him, so he’s trustworthy.”

“That isn’t how it works.”

“You don’t give your trust out to just anyone,” Clark says. His hands are pressed between their torsos and Bruce can feel it when Clark thumbs along the scar over one of his hipbones; a long, ropey one from a bad burn five years back.

“True,” Bruce says.

Clark follows the line of the hipbone scar with the tips of his fingers. He’ll do this sometimes, trace Bruce’s scars with his hands or eyes or lips. Clark says that sometimes it’s because the scars mean Bruce survived whatever hurt him, sometimes it’s because he loves all of Bruce and that means the scars as well; sometimes it’s because he’s distantly wishing that Bruce didn’t have to hurt so much-

There are probably more reasons, but Clark hasn’t offered them.

“So you got yelled at?”

“I did.”

“Sorry,” Clark says, but he’s smiling into Bruce’s neck.

Bruce tries to make an angry noise but it probably comes out fond. “How was his face?”

“I didn’t see it. You’ll have to imagine it.” Clark rubs his nose, which is oddly cold, against Bruce’s collarbone. “What’re you thinking? You have that face.”

Bruce breathes out through his nose. He’s collected far too many people who know him well. Once he had taken comfort in being an island, in having no one who knew him past the personas he put on. He’d considered the idea of letting people know him, the real him, a weakness.

He still does, but nowadays he’s dubious over whether it’s a bad thing or not.

“You’re friendly with Steve Rogers,” Bruce says.

“We catch up every few weeks or so,” Clark says. “Every few months, lately.”

“You’ve noticed how hung up he is over Stark?”

“I caught glimpses. We don’t exactly discuss his love life, or lack thereof. But it comes through sometimes when he talks about him. Why? Did something happen?”

Bruce thinks of the text he had gotten just before his patrol. It was from Tony, and it was just one word: _Thanks_.

“I think so,” Bruce says. This time he looks down to watch Clark’s absent smile.

“Good. They both need more happiness in their lives.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. He lifts a hand and drags it softly up Clark’s back, along the line of his spine, and then up his neck and into his hair.

Clark makes a pleased noise in his throat and presses closer. Bruce watches this impossible man from another planet. He could raze the Earth to cinders and instead he lifts children out of fires. He could rip Bruce to pieces without breaking a sweat and instead he kisses his eyelids; uses gentle fingers to adjust Bruce’s cufflinks.

This quiet, easy intimacy is something Bruce had resigned himself to never getting. He’d made peace with never getting it. If not for Clark, and if not for Clark getting him to stop pushing him away, Bruce could’ve lived his whole life without ever having this.

“Oh,” Clark adds. “I heard someone drop off a fruit basket about an hour ago.”

Bruce laughs quietly. “That’ll be Stark. It will probably have everything shaped like bats.”

“That man is _not_ subtle.”

“He isn’t,” Bruce agrees, turning his face so it’s resting against Clark’s hair. It smells very faintly of ash, but moreso of the shampoo Bruce keeps in his shower.

He keeps his face pressed into it as they fall into silence. Clark doesn’t need to breathe, but he likes to, so there’s the slow, even sound of it as Bruce is tugged deeper towards sleep. As he nears it, he thinks of the warmth of the body pressed against and around him, the comforting weight of Clark.

Distantly, in the way fleeting thoughts happen when dreams are close to pulling you under, Bruce thinks of Tony and Steve sleeping beside each other, one of them in the other’s arms, breathing together.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/).


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